Basement Beldam

Mikey Sloan

My sister and I have long known

That a beldam lurks within the cellar

We hear her call our names each night

She peers through the curtains with white, dead eyes

And weeps and cries while we both sleep

Some say she’s a hag or demon, witch or crone

A thing from some old era done and gone

A rusty stain from a forgotten age

That she hungers for youth

Steals children’s souls

And locks their wisps in an old canary cage

But for now, she lingers in the cool dark, waiting for little ones to stumble upon her

Last night the iron cellar door collapsed

The metal melted in on itself

 “Just kids, pulling pranks,” my father said

“Will you tell your sister?” he asked

We tried to forget her, to ignore our dread

Huddled under sheets, tucked tight in our beds

But that night we saw her. She slunk from the cellar

She reared her maggoty head and smiled

It’s an omen, a warning

Next morning as my younger sister, Molly

Dawdled down in the dust

She tripped and dropped her little dolly through the cellar’s gaping hole

She bawled. She begged me, “Bring my doll!”

So I moped to the cellar and stared into the void

A patch of sunlight shone the doll at the bottom

Past dank and rotten cellar steps 

I started to descend, made it halfway down

When I heard a growl. Or a grunt perhaps?

Don’t fret, Margaret, it’s a coon or a cat, or little pranksters laying traps

I descended yet farther when I heard three taps in the dark beyond the cellar steps

So I stopped and stared up to my little sister

Who smiled and giggled and stepped down toward me

“Wait right there!” I said

“But I miss her, Marge”

So I barged on faster to the beldam’s lair

Just there! There it was! The filthy doll

Strewn inches past the bottom stair

Can I do it? Maybe. I’ll make a mad grab

But wait! I forgot

The last stair creaks, and as soon as I step off it

A woman speaks

Her breath, it reeks with the hot stink of death

So I froze in place and held my nose

“Oh, hello,” she says, “my dear, my pearl,

So long since I’ve seen such a sweet little girl

Come down to my cellar dwelling

It’s wrong, my dear, to live so long

In the cold cellar dark beneath your home”

Oh God. She’s real. She’s really here

Her raspy breathing’s drawing near

You’ve no choice, Margaret. Up the stairs. Get out!

But I crouched and inched toward the doll

Just then a long yellow nail, a claw

Pierced the toy through the chest

Dragged it off in the dark

“I’m sorry,” she said, “did you lose your little dolly?

But she’s been such a comfort to me down here

Do you want it? Oh dear! Please, take it”

I said nothing

Simply stood and stared and waited

“Dear girl, don’t fear

Come close, approacher. Closer”

I stood and gaped toward the beldam’s voice

I didn’t dare oppose her

I held out my hand and awaited the doll

But instead, the ugly hag slunk near

“How queer,” she said, “for a thing so dear, to wander into my web”

Then she stepped forward into the light

Her face was mangled, her back hunched, skin marred

And in two scarred and bony hands a small cage jangled

“Come nearer, dear. My little bird.

Hand to God, I give my word,

Not to harm one hair on your sweet little head”

“Please, don’t,” I said, “just give me that doll. I’ll be out of your cellar for good”  

“Oh no.” She smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it

You’re my sweet little guest. A peach. A pest

I look so forward to get to knowing –”

“Well, sorry,” I said, “I’ll just be going”

And I stepped back onto the creaky stair

But she reached, she snatched, dug her claws in my back

And flung me onto the cellar stones

She sighed and grinned and breathed in deep

And from down in my lungs, my cold soul seeped

Then she opened up the rusty cage

And shut me in with a slam

She cackled through the iron bars,

“I am the beldam!”